Connections
by GeminiCancer
Summary: HP/Dexter xover. AU to both universes. Harry has always been an artist and when he moves to miami he gets to practice his art. He meets a hunter who can understand. i wanted to write a horror/romance complete may be another like it sometime
1. Prologue

**AN: this is a Dexter/Harry Potter crossover. Its completely AU both in HP and in Dexter. It doesn't follow the tv show and differs from HP after book 5. its about the characters not their respective story lines. I wanted to write a horror romance...is that so bad?**

Prologue

He liked to think of himself as a predator, a hunter, but he knew that wasn't true. What he was, was an artist. He got a thrill out of finding and capturing his projects, yes, but the true craving, the release came from the art.

His whole childhood, Harry thought that the emptiness in him came from the lack of love or affection. His family, Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon, Cousin Dudley, they hated him; viewed his abnormal presence in their lives with disdain. So it was not a leap to think his own lack of feelings was their fault. He assumed that life at Hogwarts surrounded by people who loved and adored him, who desired fiercely to be his friend or even bask in his presence would fill the emptiness. Instead it made him yearn and hunger.

It wasn't until the trip into the forbidden forest and the sight of silver unicorn blood pooling on the forest floor, dripping down decaying lips, that Harry's yearning quieted. He made a point to from then on to spend one night a week quieting his hunger in the forest.

That worked for a while, five years in fact, but Sirius' death widened the hole. If Harry had feelings they would have been for Sirius. Hermione annoyed him, Ron was an immature brat and Ginny constantly hounded him with mating rituals he didn't understand. He used them to fit in, but Sirius was different.

Sirius understood.

He helped Harry learn wandless spells that would mask his presence, remove hair, skin cells, finger prints and any other identifiable particles he might leave behind. Before Azkaban, Sirius was an Auror and his assistance preparing Harry for the day animals no longer cut it was invaluable. Every letter Sirius sent him contained information and clues to life skills that would keep Harry from detection.

Sirius only had one rule, never kill the innocent or for personal gain.

Once Sirius died Harry's hunger escalated. He controlled it with tips from Sirius' past letters, stepping up his trips to the forest, and war training. The ROR provided solid illusions of Death Eaters that Harry was able to practice on. He enjoyed watching them bleed to death.

It never occurred to Harry that once Voldemort and his death Eaters were dead or imprisoned, the magical world would have no use for him.

Harry stumbled in on a Death Eater meeting during one of his treks into the forest. He shot off a lucky cutting curse that nicked Voldemort's carotid artery. While the darkest wizard in a century fell to his knees in death throws, the Hogwarts professors arrived, tipped off by the disturbance in the wards, and captured the Death Eaters. Harry could only watch Voldemort's neck spilling torrents of blood down his chest and over the ground.

Dumbledore took credit for the planning of the Final Battle, though Harry didn't remember a battle let alone Dumbledore planning anything, but before he could protest, he was expelled for murder and shipped back to his Uncle's house.

These things didn't really touch Harry though, he didn't have attachments to school or friends. What Harry resented was not getting credit for Voldemort's death. Not because he wanted the glory but because Voldemort was his first project.

During his years at Hogwarts, he had been regaled by Ron and the other boys on the joys of Sex and masturbation. These things didn't appeal to Harry as any sort of intimate acts or actions that connected him to people seemed unnecessary. He found the thought of it disgusting and a waste of body fluids. He had no desire of that nature until Voldemort's death. Harry would wake from dreams of the memory, pants sticky with his seed.

He searched for a way to recreated it and Uncle Vernon's new job and subsequent move to Miami, Florida, USA provided him with new opportunities.


	2. Chapter 1

Ch 1

**Harry**

Despite being beyond competent in magical matters, Harry was next to ignorant about muggle things. Because of this, Harry had to attend high school. Fortunately this provided Harry with new avenues for his hunger and the discovery of his art.

Harry's first project came from Patrick, Harry's tutor. Three consecutive days of watching Patrick wince and shift when he pressed against the chair made Harry do something rather unexpected, open himself up.

"Do you need medicine?" Harry asked, causing Patrick to blink uncomprehendingly. "For your back." Harry clarified. "I have some."

Patrick grew antagonistic, a reaction Harry expected. "Hey! Mind your own business looser."

Harry nodded and left it alone but when Patrick came to tutoring the next day with a black eye, Harry handed over the bruise paste without a word.

Slowly, Patrick began to talk to Harry about the abuse. His mother died in a car accident a year a go and left Patrick and his little brother with their step-father who too to drinking. He pressured Patrick into taking Patrick's mother's role in the household and in his bed.

Harry listened, sympathized, shared generalities of his own situation and found his first project.

The art came later, after Harry had Patrick's step-father trapped on the kitchen table. Patrick took his little brother to the movies and so Harry had a few hours of privacy. The project was still, caught in a patrificus totalus and though he didn't move, Harry knew he could feel. The knife in Harry's hand carved the flesh almost of it's own volition.

It was directed by Harry's will and magic and the image came directly from the project's own mind. The most heinous abuse that was directed at Patrick and his brother was portrayed in vivid detail, shaded by depth of muscle and bone, on the project's back.

When the picture was done Harry trembled as if coming out of a dream. He looked at his work and felt proud, honored that he could immortalize his message in such a way. He wanted to have a record of it, a trophy. He photographed his art and pressed a square of white cloth into the bleeding cuts. It pulled off, sticking slightly to the blood, with a replica of the image. It wasn't as perfect without the shading but then again replications never are.

Before he left, Harry slashed the project's neck, watching, shuddering with euphoria, as the blood pooled on the floor and the body drained.

While the project its self went flawlessly, its clean up taught Harry a few things. His spells took care of any evidence but Patrick had to deal with all sorts of things Harry never took into account. He was 16 luckily, and the life insurance allowed him to keep his brother with him so they wouldn't be separated. Also, the mess Harry made, traumatized Patrick's little brother so much he didn't speak for months.

This was the last thing he wanted, his art was for the betterment of these tortured souls, but he learned.

**Dexter**

**AN: Dexter's chapters will always be in first person. that's how it is in the show, so that's how I'll keep it. **

It was the smell of blood that hit me first as Angel led me into the kitchen. Just like the last two victims this year, the body was wrapped in the plastic the killer used to cover the room.

Angel said, "sign of remorse like the others?" But I thought not.

"No, I think…its almost like he wants to keep the room clean for the family. So they don't have to clean up the blood after we leave."

I sighed. It was a nice thought but it made my job harder.

Sergeant Doakes muscled his way over to me. "You get anything from this one freak?"

I shook my head with a smile. He'd never stop giving me a hard time.

"Folding up the plastic distorts the blood and makes tracking it almost impossible."

"What good are you then?"

We unwrapped the body carefully while he left, documenting everything and smoothing the plastic into place.

"Alright people!" Lieutenant LaGuerta said, always the center of attention that one. "This is three. I'm officially declaring this a serial case. I want every scrap of evidence, I don't care if you have to tear down every wall."

The killer wouldn't like that, not after all he did to prevent hardship for the family but of course I said nothing. I hadn't been this intrigued by a killer since the ice truck killer.

Vince called me over to the body, to excited by the information he had. "There's another one!." he said, pointing at the image carved into the back of the body. Though the killer had evolved his process and changed some things, like using plastic to keep the house clean, or making sure that the little children wouldn't be the ones to find the body, this had remained the same.

Angel checked the wrist and ankles, shaking is head, "I still can't figure out how he's keeping them down. There's no restraint marks, or bruising. Its like they just lay down and let him carve on them."

I nodded abstractly, still focused on taking pictures of the image. This one was more detailed, a scenario of abuse over time rather then just one as the others had been. Was this an evolution or a message? I didn't know.

"He's getting better." I said. Indeed the artistry of the image was better, though there never were any hesitation marks, this one was more confident. "See here how the cuts are shallower and the image clearer? As he gets experience…" I didn't need to say the rest. They understood.

"was this one alive as well?" Angel asked.

I nodded, "See how the blood started clotting here?"

"!dios mio!"

Later, while organizing the photo's I took of the crime scene, my sister, Deb, flounced in excited about new knowledge.

"So I was looking into any commonalities between these men and the woman." She started and I couldn't help but interject. "Besides the fact that they abused children?"

he shot me a look but continued as if uninterrupted, "and I realized that all the kids go to the same school. Well what if it's a kid? What if that's how the killer is finding out about it, from the children that are abused? I know LaGuerta is looking for a teacher, janitor, or parent with history of abuse but if it's a k id then she's looking in the wrong direction. And I mean its not like she's not fucking done this before!"

This hadn't occurred to me.

Of course , then victimology changed before Deb or I could act on this new angle. Victims with children in different schools, at different ages, different sexes, nationalities.

His comfort zone changed irregularly as if he was moving, or getting more comfortable in the city as a whole.

The police and I were all stumped until the twelfth and thirteenth victims, Vernon and Petunia Dursley, victims, and Harry Potter, the abused child.


	3. Chapter 2

**Harry**

Harry had always known he'd be the one to kill Vernon and Petunia, but before he did, he wanted to have his art down. Dudley's early stint in juvie for theft and assault left Aunt Petunia, Uncle Vernon and Harry all alone.

He experimented finding projects from all over, he watched and red true crime and remained careful not to cross state lines. He stayed in Miami since it wasn't necessary to find a bigger pool, there were plenty of projects close to home and he didn't want to make his a federal case.

Once Harry perfected his art, he finally felt he could give his 'family' the dedication and brilliance they deserved. The high from this project lasted for nearly two months and as an added bonus, Harry met Dexter.

It was of course Harry who called in Vernon and Petunia's deaths so he was at the house being questioned by the police when Dexter arrived. One sight of their blood specialist was enough to out him. Like recognized like after all.

The blond tech froze when his eyes met Harry's and the world stopped for just a second. When time restarted, they both knew.

Harry spent a large amount of time after that at the police station, trying to catch a glimpse of the tech. Leaning his name was Dexter was a real treat. But the case grew cold and he ran out of reasons to be there, and Harry's art called. He had to stop searching out Dexter to find new projects.

As luck would have it, the pedophile politian he found caught the attention of another hunter. They stalked in different ways. Dexter needed proof and Harry needed evidence of victims but they met up outside Judge Richter's house on the same night.

Dexter froze and Harry grinned. "I was hopping to run into you, but this wasn't what I had in mind." Dexter shrugged, years of fitting in and deflecting coming to the surface.

"What did you have him mind?"

Lights came on in the second story window above them and made them duck into a bush and Harry winked, his suspicious confirmed.

"Oh you know, meeting up on the street, you ask me for coffee. I say yes, you know like normal people." he paused, "but then again, we're not normal people are we. I think I like this better. Its more honest."

When Dexter didn't respond Harry lost his grin, "I need this one kinda bad, do you mind? I'll help you with the next one."

Dexter frowned, "I don't know what you mean." He got up to leave but stopped when Harry whispered seductively, "Want to watch?"

**Dexter**

Watching Harry Potter work was like watching a master. He'd perfected his method, and since I had seen his work evolve it was incredibly intimate.

Harry knocked out Richter with a pinch to the neck, "Vulcan neck pinch." He said and though I knew better I didn't say anything. None of the other bodies showed bruising on the neck, pre or post mortem, like this one would. The neck pinch was just for me, a show.

I didn't bother me, an artist is entitled to his secrets.

Harry didn't bother with the plastic around the room this time. Judge Richter didn't have kids, his victims were the preteen and teen boys who were forced to use their bodies to prevent extended and unwarranted jail time.

Harry's knife moved swiftly, cutting flesh at different depth in a chaotic pattern that I couldn't figure out. He would cut sections of skin, his arm swinging in arcs, and the knife lowering at random intervals. However as the image formed I could see nothing but genius. A collage of boys, their faces warped in helpless fear, decorated Richards back.

When the image was finished, Harry took a picture and pressed a pristine white square of cloth to the still seeping wounds. He pulled it up with the negative of the masterpiece he'd created. I wondered how he kept that hidden.

Harry turned Richard's head, baring his neck. From my spot in the corner of the room I could see his eyes wide open, watching, begging. Harry motioned me forward and I came wordlessly, attracted magnetically to the knife and to Harry. The connection I felt to him surpassed any I'd ever had, including my father and Deb. In this moment, I realized exactly what I was supposed to feel for Rita and why I would never feel it for her.

He handed me the knife and covered my hand with his own. Together we slashed Richter's artery. Harry shivered in release and arched against my chest as the blood gushed and though this was not my preferred method, killing with Harry was almost better in a way.

He pressed his ass into my groin and I felt my self go hard. As he undulated on me the pleasure mounted and I reached around to palm his hard-on. There were no words. He thrust against me until we both climaxed, watching the crimson tide slow.

As we left, Harry waved his hand, vanishing the blood and come that collected on our clothes. I blinked and jumped in surprise. He winked at me. "A magician never reveals his secrets."

Before we parted ways I asked, "Did they deserve to die?"

He frowned at me but once he got a clear look at me he nodded in understanding. Of course Richter did but I needed to know about the others.

"Yes, every one of them. My projects are all scum, child abusers, molesters, pedophiles, rapists. I make the world a safer place."

I smiled, relieved and then confused about the strength of my emotion. I said, "As long as it stays that way, You'll not be among my targets."

He grinned, "Will I see you around though?"

I thought about the intensity of the connection to him, my responses, my heretofore unfelt emotions, and nodded. "Definitely."


	4. Chapter 3

The next time they met, Harry was out of high school and studying British history and writing. Muggle history, when compared to magical history, was rather fascinating. He was thinking of writing a book on his magical experiences and publishing it in both magical and mundane worlds. In his spare time, to make money, Harry combined magic and mundane to enhance muggle conveniences American Magicals had to give up. Magic just didn't work around electronics.

Harry's art however hadn't weaned though the was more careful how he chose his projects.

Dexter and he continued to meet up randomly though very very infrequently by hunting the same target. When they met on the street and Dexter asked him for coffee with a devilish grin, Harry couldn't hold in his chuckles. Because they saw each other more often, Dexter was able to inform Harry of any trends that the police were able to track. Harry learned not to shit where he ate.

The internet proved to be a fantastic way to find projects and an untraceable source.

It was during such a project that he met up with Dexter.

"Hey! Don't tell me you're after my guy?"

Dexter shook his head, "no, unless you've broadened your horizons."

Since Harry's need was not desperate he volunteered to help Dexter out rather then meet up with the online pedophile like he'd planned.

He obeyed Dexter's instructions immediately and with out protest. This wasn't his hunt and it would be disrespectful to do otherwise.

Resolved to be merely a spectator, Harry still struggled not to impirio Dexter's target when Dexter threatened the man with strangulation by wire. Dexter's method worked though and the target drove them out into the swamps to an old abandoned hotel. Harry enjoyed seeing this side of Dexter. The blood tech he met was completely gone and in his place was a cold killer who didn't need to second guess his actions. Every motion, every bunched muscle, every word was carefully controlled and served to draw Harry closer.

"What do you what?" the target cried as Dexter pulled him from the car.

"I want silence." He stabbed the target with a needle and the body went limp. Dexter scowled down at the target and then at the open door of the hotel some meters away. He turned to Harry.

"I didn't mean to do that until he was in the building, now I have to carry him. You're distracting me."

Harry blushed, ashamed that his unexpected presence was affecting the master work. "Let me fix it then." He levitated the target and cleared his throat when Dexter only watched, memorized.

"Right, handy."

Dexter wrapped the target in plastic wrap, covered himself with protection, and then showed Harry the evidence of the target's guilt while they waited for indication of consciousness.

Harry listened with rapt attention as Dexter described what the man had done and how Dexter had found out about it. It never occurred to Harry to use court trials and hearings. What a perfect way to find those that needed punishment.

When the target groaned, Dexter left Harry confront his target. He outlined the targets past sins with anger mixed with a dose of understanding. With each unpunished crime the target exhibited more shame and fear. Harry could understand why Dexter did this rather then simply killing the target. It was therapeutic.

"Please." the target begged, "I couldn't help myself. I'm sorry."

Harry felt this was a perfect example of why he prevented his projects from talking. He couldn't stand begging, but he didn't say anything. This was part of Dexter's process.

"That, I can understand." Dexter said, voice husky with anticipation.

Watching Dexter cut his target into pieces, limbs twisting in pain for a moment before jerking in death throes, was too exciting not to be apart of and it pulled Harry from his chair and over to stand behind Dexter. Dexter's art was much more brutal then Harry's but the former boy-hero still found it exhilarating.

When it was over, Dexter invited Harry to his place to clean up.

"Just water and soap here, no magic tricks, sorry." Dexter quipped.

Harry was fascinated with Dexter's box of trophy blood drops.

"Hey tell me about your first."

Dexter laughed. "It was only half thought out. I figured out how to restrain her and that I wanted her asleep, but sticking her with the needle was harder then I thought it would be. She fought like you'd never believe." Harry grinned.

"and the blood? Did it get everywhere?"

Dexter moaned low in his throat. "Yes, it was all over the room, all over me."

Harry moved closer and leaned forward, nearly breathing the same air as Dexter.

"and that first cut? What was it like?"

Dexter, lost in his memories, missed Harry grab his hand and place it on his thigh. "I just used a knife but the first cut resisted more then I thought it would."

Harry grinned and kissed his neck creating jolts of pleasure that went straight to his groin. "did you wear gloves or could you feel the blood on your skin."

Dexter sighed and tilted his head for Harry's wandering mouth. He groaned at the thought of dipping his hands in blood and said, "No, I used gloves."

"Shame." Harry said.

"And you?" Dexter said after a moment. Harry had moved into his lap and he was kneading Harry's ass while they thrust slowly against each other.

"My first was an accident. I hadn't even considered my art. I nicked his artery and the blood…" He moaned, hot breath against Dexter's neck. "It was everywhere."

Dexter and Harry got lost in their memories, the blood of their kills, the lust and release they got from their methods.

Harry dropped from Dexter's lap and opened up his pants. He took Dexter deep into his mouth, moaning as Dexter's hands fisted in his dark hair. Dexter thrust his hips and Harry opened his throat and let him. When he came it was on Harry's name.

Harry swallowed him down and then stood opening his own fly. "My turn." Dexter jolted slightly and Harry raised an eyebrow. He could tell that Dexter had no desire to return the favor. It was a blessing that they didn't have to pretend or invoke their false selves with the other but Harry was horny. To entice him, Harry said. "My favorite project by far was Dr. Chambers."

"I wanted him!" Dexter said, eye's flashing in competition.

"Sorry." Harry chucked and gently pushed Dexter's head down where he wanted it. Dexter resisted for a moment and Harry let him but didn't talk about Dr. Chambers either. With a sigh Dexter leaned forward on the couch and tentatively took Harry in his mouth while making a face.

"He was a fat bastard, plenty of space of my art." Dexter groaned while Harry described the project in detail, pausing and panting intermediately as Dexter pleasured him. He pulled out so Dexter wouldn't have to swallow and spilled on the floor, bowing slightly as his bones seemed to melt.

He winked at Dexter and cleaned them up. He settled down on the couch next to Dexter and they talked until dawn. As Harry was leaving he leaned up and kissed Dexter sweetly. "I don't know what it is about you Dex, but If I could feel, I'd probably feel for you."


	5. Chapter 4

Harry and I met often and he was always on my mind. Even Rita noticed.

"Dexter baby?" She said in that soft voice that used to sooth. "How come you don't come around as often anymore?"

I shrugged but didn't look away. My father always said liars looked away.

"I'm just busy with work. There's a new serial killer out there." It didn't occur to me that there might be a reason I kept bringing up Harry in conversations with Rita, even in general form.

She stared at me for a moment, hoping to see something in my eyes. There never was anything. I couldn't understand what she was looking for to fake it.

She sighed and looked away. "I think you should leave."

"What? Why?" She pulled away from me, her head turned.

"I may not be very smart but I can tell when I'm being cheated on."

I just blinked at her. It hadn't occurred to me that I was cheating. My life with Harry was so far removed from the façade that was my relationship with Rita that it never occurred to me to compare them. She was a mask, part my human veneer. Harry was my….whatever.

I left without a fight and without remorse. I would miss Rita's soft smooth edges but it was rather liberating, walking from her house for the last time. The pressures she put on me had become extremely restricting and that empty place seemed to gape wider as I became more stressed.

Deb wanted to know what happened, in detail, so I introduced her to Harry.

"Wait I know you…Fuck! You're that kid from the case." She rounded on me with a look.

I raised my hands up in supplication with a grin. "You know you can't get involved with people on the case! You're compromised now!" I just shrugged. Harry smiled wickedly behind her. It amused us both how correct she was.

She pulled me aside and cussed me out for a while but accepted it. She didn't even comment, to much, on my apparent new sexuality. It wasn't about sex, though that was a surprising avenue I never expected, it was about the connection; of having someone I didn't have to pretend around.

He and I grew closer and our nonexistent feelings for each other flourished. We helped each other with hunts, and less frequently the actual kills. While it was nice to have someone who actually, truly, understood, hunting was personal and it was better to do it alone.

We didn't hide it thought. When we met up we discussed our most resent hunts which usually lead to frenzied kisses and intense encounters. I still wasn't interested in full on sex but reveling in our satisfied hunger was emotive.

It wasn't all the hunt, however, we shared personal details that I'd never told anyone. I suspected that Harry hadn't either but never knew for sure. He told me about Sirius and I told him about my foster dad. He laughed when I told him he and my dad had the same name. He found it fascinating that we each had someone who supported us. He read books upon books on people like us and found out that they had no one. I reminded him, that the people written about in books, had been caught or at least we known about. We were still completely unknown, thanks in part, to our supportive father figures.

Slowly having feelings and a connection with someone began to grow comfortable. I didn't feel itch in my skin when I thought of Harry anymore, just a warm soothing drip.

I thought I had it made.

Until they discovered my dump site.

I always took the body pieces to the bay and dumped them in the ocean, counting on the marine life to get rid of them. Unfortunately, the constant source of food attracted a plethora of life which caught the attention of some marine biologist students from the college. They found half consumed human flesh and bones and called the police.

Of course, they called me in.

Watching them pull up the body parts I'd put there felt like a violation and something must have showed on my face.

"Well..no blood" I said once they'd pulled them all up and left. I went straight to Harry who already knew, he was watching it on TV when I came in the door.

He didn't speak but we watched the news report together. I can't tell you how amazing it was to have that support again.

I spent the next month in a hazed existence. I only saw them parading my victims through the morgue once before I called in sick. I knew I was close to loosing it and I could tell Harry was worried. His art suffered as he took care of me.

My hunger got stronger and sloppier but I couldn't stop it. Harry started following me, cleaning up after me, silently watching me loose it. I wondered why he didn't cut his loses.

A month later I found Deb sobbing in my living room.

"I know it's you Dex." She said.

"What?" I pasted on my best confused smile.

"Dad knew, he helped you didn't he. That's what you were talking about in the hospital." her voice was monotone, she didn't expect an answer.

I just blinked and took off my coat, "What are you talking about sis?"

"Don't!" she choked. She held up a finger, "Just funk'n don't. I will get rid of what led me to you this time, but you have to leave. You have to fuck'n get out of town. I won't be able to cover for you and I won't. It's wrong!"

I didn't try to argue or protest. I just nodded and she left.

Four phone calls later and I was unemployed, my lease was broken, and the moving company was on its way to take my things to a storage facility. I packed enough clothes and necessities for two weeks and carefully packed my box of blood samples. When I opened the door to leave for the last time, Harry was leaning against the railing with a bag over his shoulder.

I cleared my throat, completely shocked.

"Deb called me. Said I should stay away from you. She mumbled something about how she couldn't be your connection." I stared at him wordlessly. "I'm coming with you. I'll be the only connection you need." He grinned and I nodded. I knew he'd follow me anyway, stubborn bastard.

The drive was quiet and Harry held my hand as we left the only city I'd ever lived in.

That hole inside me wouldn't ever be filled and I would never be normal but with Harry, I had hope that I'd never become a monster either.

fin


End file.
